


It Could've Been Worse

by misspeltcauliflower (petitchoufluer)



Category: Video Blogging RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Abusive Relationships, Dubious Consent, Kidnapping, OOC, Other, Threats of Violence, gender-neutral
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 14:14:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7390465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petitchoufluer/pseuds/misspeltcauliflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You were special, why couldn't you just see that?</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <b>UNFINISHED/ABANDONED</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Could've Been Worse

**Author's Note:**

> pretty sure it was supposed to be a request i got but i twisted it to appeal to me and only me? then i just... abandoned it. i found it a few weeks ago and tried to finish it but... eh... i also thought it was a waste to just not do anything with it so i decided to post it. this is unbeta'd and full of purple prose nonsense, warning for that :')
> 
> **i do not condone abusive relationships nor do i intend to romanticize them.**
> 
> also mark is the sweetest man and would never treat his partner this way. especially when he says stuff along the lines of willing to die if it meant there would be no more violence in the world so :').

You were special.

At least, that is what he had told you. He would insist that you were special, unlike anyone else, and if someone told you otherwise... _Well_. They were simply proven wrong, at least that was what he had told you anyway. You didn't like to think about what he might've said or done to any naysayers.

You used to insist that you weren't. You were typical, just like everyone else. You faded in the background, both in personality and appearance, and you didn't really mind that too much. His obsession and constant insistence that you were special (“Light of his life” as he put it oh-so frequently) had confused you nearly every time.

He didn't like that. At all. He was quiet about it at first. He spoke gentle words to try to convince you that you were everything but typical to him before just becoming silent for several minutes and leaving, claiming he had to go return some video tapes. Over time, he became more demanding about how perfect and special you were. Gifts and flowery praises showered upon you, your polite refusals to both verbal and physical gifts quickly drowned out by more sweet words. Then came the days where he would yell and scream and shout about how you denied him the right to show you how much you meant to him.

The night he screamed and screamed about how cruel your constant denial of his right to love you until his voice went hoarse was probably the worst. He couldn't speak for the next few days, luckily he had some older uploads queued up. Even when he was silent, his deafening words echoed in your mind.

Denying him the right to place you on a pedestal you were uncomfortable being on. Denying him the right to worship the ground you walked on, the air you expelled from your lungs; the very concept of you. Denying him the right to convert other people—people unworthy of even thinking about you, apparently—to his religion; you.

It was too much. There was no way this could be flattering in any sense, maybe in some mirror world where everything was opposite—where he had blonde hair and dyed his hair cyan. It was frightening, overwhelming; he was drowning you and killing you with his brand of kindness, one that you could never replicate and give to him. Not now, not ever.

“Please don't see me again, Mark.” You said, heart aching from having to do this to someone who cared so much about you.

There were tears. There were pleads for you to not go, for you to reconsider. There were promises; he'd change everything—every little fibre of his being—if it was possible if you'd just stay.

“You don't have to change anything, I just don't want to see you anymore. You're scaring me.”

You'd tell him to change the fact that he is an obsessive creep and move on, but a part of you tells you that he'd probably implode at the thought. He was bursting at the seams already, you didn't need to make things work.

“No.” He said calmly, hot tears continuing to fall from his dark eyes. His deep baritone unwavering even as his form trembled and fluids oozing from nearly every orifice on his face. “I'm not giving you up.”

Fear stabbed you in the heart; a blade of ice twisting itself into your chest and your body feeling like you were pushed into a frozen river. His gaze turned your blood into ice water and paralysed you; protests caught in your throat as he stepped towards you, hands gently placing themselves on the sides of your face.

“You don't mean any of that. Those other people... They tricked you,” He whispered, hit hot breath and voice ghosting over your now sweat slicked skin. Vibrations from his voice ran over every inch of your wet skin and sank into your pores and rattled inside your bones. “It's okay.”

A strangled sound finally managed to escape from you as his calloused hands inched lower before wrapping around your neck. Your heart pounded painfully inside your chest, pumping more fear through frozen veins as his fingers twitched around your throat. His hands never squeezed, even as he moved the both of you towards the wall—pinning you against the surface.

He whispered your name, resting his forehead against yours while his hands were still glued around your neck. “Maybe time away from everyone else will do you some good. You'll... realize how perfect you are. And how much I need you. How perfect we are. Together. You complete me...” He said, trailing off to mutter your name again and again. Each time he said your name, his hands twitched around you neck—possibly as a reminder to keep him happy. “It'll give you time to reconsider.”

“...” Your eyes flickered away from his, though it was nearly impossible with how close you were and how his aphotic eyes stared right into you. “A-alright. You're right, Mark.” You added a laugh, tears pricking your eyes as you forced a smile. “I-I'll think about it.”

The man grinned, hands dropping from your neck as he fell to his knees. His arms wrapping around your hips and cheek pressing against your body. He gazed up at you lovingly, “You won't regret this. We can spend so much time together—I'm so happy. You'll realize how good it'll be for you—for us.”

* * *

 

While you never left your home for weeks, it had felt like nothing like it. Mark had ushered you into the basement—small windows covered with blackout curtains and boarded up from the inside, blocking out natural light, and the door knob replaced with one that locked from the outside. When he found the time to do this, you didn't really know; you assumed that he did it while you were asleep or out before this had all gone down.

It could've been worse.

He could've bought some rundown building in the sketchy part of town and put you in a hole; feeding you by dropping things in a bucket attached to a rope. The fact that he left you in your house showed that he cared. At least you had a bathroom down here. And there was a TV and games down here.

No internet however. No phone.

But hey, it could've been worse.

The sound of your name being called from outside the basement door broke you from your thoughts. Something swelled inside your chest—you weren't sure if it was happiness or fear—as the clicking of the door unlocking echoed through the room. You shot up from the beat up couch and walked to the door, waiting for it to open.

“Ah, help me out,” Mark said once the door barely began to open. His hands were full with two pizza boxes stacked on top of each other and two bottles of pop tucked under his arm. You grabbed the bottles from him, trying not to agitate them more while he closed the door with his foot. “Thanks.”

He looked like himself today—when you first met him. Bright, clear eyes, a large sunny smile on his lips and an almost blinding yet also subdued aura shining off of him. It was a little startling, but it was a welcome change. You missed him like this...

“No problem,” You smiled as he went to place the food by the couches. Your eyes drifted towards the door upstairs... it was unlocked and you probably could just. Run.

Images of you chucking the pop in your arms at Mark before dashing up the stairs, legs scrambling under you as you tried to escape. Him running after you—possible outcomes of you managing to get out of the house and screaming for help that just barely manages to come or him grabbing you and pulling you back inside to never see the light of day again.

There was more to the last day dream, but you didn't want to think too long about him bringing in the restraints—it wouldn't be fun and games this time—or actually hurting you. The feeling of his hands just barely squeezing your neck and crushing your larynx was still fresh on your mind.

The click of the door locking once again snapped you out of your thoughts. Your mind felt a bit fuzzy while you came back to earth, eyes blinking lazily as Mark stared at you.

“What's wrong?” He asked stonily, nebulous eyes resembling cimmerian caverns more than the warmth that came with the chocolate shade he had. His voice had an edge to it, reminding you of the day you had gotten into this mess. He stepped towards you before taking what was in your hands and calmly placing them onto the floor.

“N-nothing! I... just zoned out for a minute.” You said, voice trembling as his hands placed themselves on your upper arms. Panic trickled through you as he lead you to the couch, he didn't press. Surprisingly.

 


End file.
